David Baldacci - The Innocent

Julie walked to a cut-rate hotel that was wedged between two vacant buildings. She went inside.

Robie pulled up on his bike and watched through a hotel window. She was checking in using a credit card. He wondered whose name was on it. If hers, it could send a marker through the system that would inform whoever was after her right where she was.

A minute later she stepped onto the elevator. Robie broke off surveillance at that point, but he was not done with her yet. He went into the hotel and up to the front desk. The man behind it was old and looked like he would rather be pouring road asphalt in August than holding down this job.

Robie said, “My daughter just checked in. I dropped her off for an internship on the Hill. I wanted her to use her American Express card because the card I gave her was corrupted, but I think she forgot. I tried calling her, but I guess she turned her phone off.”

The old gent looked put out. “She just arrived. Why don’t you go ask her yourself?”

“What room is she in?”

The old fellow smiled. “I can’t give out that information. It’s private.”

Robie looked suitably irritated, like any father would. “Look, can you just help me out here? The last thing I need is for some cyber creep to screw up my credit by my kid using the wrong card.”

The man looked at the records in front of him. “It’s a lot of effort for me to do that.”

Robie sighed heavily and pulled out his wallet. He slipped out a twenty. “Will this help ease your effort?”

“No, but two of them sure would.”

Robie pulled out a second twenty and the man snatched them.

“Okay. Credit card used was a Visa. Name on the account was Gerald Dixon.”

“I know that. I am Gerald Dixon. Now, I’ve got two Visa cards. Can I see the numbers?”

“You can for another twenty.”

After exhibiting deep exasperation, Robie complied. He looked at the card and memorized the numbers. Gerald Dixon was now his.

“Great,” said Robie. “That’s the corrupted card.”

“Already ran it through, sport. Nothing I can do,” the man added gleefully.

Robie said, “Thanks for nothing.”

He turned and left. He would find out who Gerald Dixon was. But he had to assume that Julie was safe for the moment. Now he had to get going.

He rode back to his apartment and checked out the front and back of his building before going inside. He took the stairwell instead of the elevator. He passed no one. At this hour of the day everyone was at work. He opened the door to his apartment and poked his head inside. It was all as he had left it.

It took him five minutes to make sure the place was empty. He employed little traps-a piece of paper wedged into a door track, a thread that would be broken when a drawer was opened-to alert him if someone had broken into and searched his place. None of them were tripped.

He changed into slacks, sport coat, and white collared shirt and opened a wall safe that was behind a shelving unit holding his TV. His cred pack was in there. He hadn’t used it in a long time. He slipped it inside his suit jacket and set off.

The meeting was in a public place at Robie’s insistence.

The Hay-Adams Hotel was located across the street from Lafayette Park, which in turn was across Pennsylvania Avenue from the White House. The most protected ground on earth. Robie figured even his agency would have a hard time killing him here and getting away with it.

The Jefferson Room, an expansive eating area a short stack of steps up from the hotel lobby, was the actual site of the meeting. Robie got there early to see who might have arrived ahead of him.

Then he waited. One minute before the allotted time a man in his sixties walked in. Modestly priced suit, red tie, polished off-the-rack shoes, the bearing and gravitas of a lifelong public servant who had accumulated far more power than wealth. Two tall young men were with him.

Muscle. Chest bumps revealed the weapons. Earwigs and wires revealed the communications.

They followed him into the Jefferson Room but did not sit with him. They took up positions on the perimeter, their gazes sweeping for threats. They did not let the man sit in the line of any window.

One of the men took out a slender device and set it on the piano that was parked in one corner of the restaurant. He turned it on. It emitted a humming sound.

White noise with a scrambler, Robie knew because he had employed one in his work. If there are electronic surveillance devices in here, the recording will come out undecipherable.

It was only then that Robie stepped out. He allowed himself to be seen, but did not approach until the older man saw him and nodded, which confirmed to his guards that Robie was the one he was meeting with.

The room was empty even though it was lunchtime. Robie knew this was not a coincidence. The wait staff was not in evidence. The restaurant had in effect been shut down. Robie would have to eat lunch afterwards if he was hungry. He doubted food was part of the agenda.

Robie sat catty-corner to the man, his back also to a wall.

“Glad you could make it,” said the man.

“You have a name?”

“Blue Man will do.”

“Creds, Blue, just for confirmation.”

The man reached into his pocket and let Robie see the badge, the picture, and the position stated on the ID card but not the name.

This fellow was high up in the agency. Far higher than Robie expected.

“Okay, let’s talk. Jane Wind? You said she was one of ours. I checked her ID. She’s DCIS. Defense Criminal Investigative Service.”

“Did you also see her passport?”

“Middle East trips, Germany. But DCIS has offices in all those places.”

“That’s why it made perfect cover.”

“So was she a lawyer?”

“Yes. But she was more than that.”

“What exactly did she do for you?”

“You know you’re not read in.”

“Then why ask me here?”

“I said you weren’t read in. I’m officially reading you in now.”

“Okay.”

“But first, I need to know exactly what happened last night.”

Robie told him. He figured at this point keeping anything back was a stupid idea. However, he said nothing about Julie or the bus disintegrating. In his mind that was a separate matter entirely.

Blue Man sat back and took all this information in. He didn’t break the silence and neither did Robie. He figured Blue Man had more to tell him than Robie had left to convey.

“Agent Wind worked in the field for years. She was a good agent, as I said. After she had her children she was reassigned to the IG’s Office at DOD, but she still worked closely with DCIS in all of its investigation sectors. And of course she continued to work for us.”

“How did that get her assigned to a hit list she wasn’t supposed to be on?” asked Robie. “And how can something like this happen anyway? I know we’re clandestine, but we’re also part of an organization with checks and balances.”

“Rogue traders lose billions of dollars of institutional money all the time. And those organizations are bigger and better funded than we are. And still it happens. If one person, or more likely a small group of people, are determined enough, they can accomplish the impossible.”

“I saw her go into the building that night. She had no kids with her.”

“Apparently they were with a sitter she’s used before that lives in the building. This sitter took them to the apartment when Agent Wind returned home.”

“Okay. What did Wind stumble on that got her killed?”

Blue Man looked curious. “How do you know she stumbled onto anything?”

“She lived in a crappy apartment with two little kids. There were legal docs on her table in the living room. You can’t bring home classified stuff and leave it lying around. So her work wasn’t classified. According to her passport her last trip out of the States was two years ago. She wasn’t a field agent, at least not any longer, according to you. Her youngest child wasn’t even a year old. She probably was pulled from the field because of that. But she was back working on something, probably considered routine. She found something. That’s why she was targeted. I doubt it was directly related to her work.”